


Stranded / Recovered

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Drunkenness, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine gets kicked out of his own room when his two best friends decide to resolve their sexual tension, but, as it turns out, being sexiled is not the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> sourirekid (tumblr) prompted: “Drabble? CollegeAU where one is sexiled and the other is drunk and stumbles upon them?”

Blaine sits on the floor in the hall outside his dorm room, and he _fumes_.

Music’s blaring from the other side of the door. There’s a black mesh fingerless glove — Tina’s, of course — wrapped hastily around the doorknob, and Sam’s dark blue t-shirt lays abandoned a little farther down the hallway. Blaine glares at the shirt as if it, alone, is responsible for this fuckery, as if its sole task for the night was to stay on Sam’s body and it just couldn’t do it.

_You had one job_ , Blaine thinks.

He’s never been this angry at both of his best friends before. When one annoys him, he can rant to the other, but all he’d been able to do in this case was freeze at the sight of the signal on the door and yell, “Are you guys serious?!”

He shouldn’t have been kicked out of his own room. The two of them should’ve just ditched their (innocent) threesome and gone to Tina’s, because… well, because at least it wasn’t _his_ and Sam’s room. Blaine had nothing but his phone, and nowhere else to go, so he sat outside and sent them a series of angry texts, just to spite them.

"Are you lost?"

Blaine looks up from his phone. And then he keeps looking, up and up and up, because the person that lovely, strangely familiar voice belongs to is towering directly over him on impossibly long legs. Blaine is confused, because — “Uh, _no_ , this is my room.”

It comes out a little harsher than Blaine means it to, because he’s so mad at Sam and Tina, and the stranger snaps back, “This’s _my_ room, you… you preppy hobo!”

Blaine just raises his eyebrows. Okay. So, this guy is confused. Drunk, exceptionally hot, and confused. Blaine immediately regrets being rude once he gets a good look at him. His pretty blue — no, green? Gray, maybe? — eyes are only a little glazed over, and the apples of his cheeks are pink — though, flushed from liquor or from embarrassment as he stares at the room number on the door and realizes his error, Blaine isn’t sure. Probably both. 

"This isn’t my room," he says quietly, glancing at Blaine with a sheepish little shrug. "My room has a four in it."

Blaine recognizes the voice. It’s just as melodious when he speaks as it is when he sings. “Room 405? You’re the guy downstairs. You sing in the shower every morning. You’re _stellar_.”

The guy beams at him. “I have a cute fan?”

"You have a cu—oh, um," Blaine laughs, and answers, "Yeah. I guess you do."

The guy sinks to the floor, a little wobbly, and sits across from Blaine with those legs of his stretched out. Blaine suddenly thinks that being stranded could’ve gone worse.

"I’m Kurt Hummel," he says, and he leans forward to shake Blaine’s hand, but then it’s like he forgets to stop. He bends himself in half with a "Woo-OOP!" and grasps his own toes instead.

"Whoa, you okay?" Blaine puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and resolutely does not think about how flexible Kurt is as he asks, "Want me to walk you to your room?"

"Mmm, a gentleman," Kurt grins, still holding his toes. He pushes himself back up and says, "No, that’s farther away than… right here." He runs his hands over the hard carpet, then slides his hands from the floor to his thighs. "This isn’t my floor, but it’s a nice floor, and you’re nice, too."

Blaine doesn’t know what to say to this. Kurt doesn’t seem like he’s going to be sick, and most of his words are coming out clearly, and he’s _so cute_ , so Blaine just smiles.

"Why’re you out here? Your room’s not far away like mine is."

The song blaring on the other side of the door ends just in time for Tina’s loud moan to carry into the hallway. 

_"Hey, Spotify listeners! How would you like —"_

"SHUT UP!" Sam yells at Blaine’s laptop, and then there’s a thump against the wall like he’s thrown something blindly across the room. The ad finishes a second later, and the next song starts—

_"MY ANACONDA DON’T! MY ANACONDA DON’T!"_

And then Tina is positively _cackling_ and Sam’s moaning, “Ohhh, shit, don’t squeeze—”

Blaine had managed to forget about them for two minutes, but now he’s enraged and mildly nauseated all over again. He takes a calming breath and covers his face with both hands. Then he hears giggling.

"I know why you’re out here," Kurt sing-songs, wagging a finger at him. "You got _sexiled!_ " He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, but loses his grip as he erupts into even harder giggles that get higher and higher-pitched. His whole face is scrunched up and his grin is wide and toothy like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. Then he’s got one arm up and his head’s tilted back against the wall, and he’s sort of bouncing in place to the beat of the song, singing, _"My anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hun!"_

Blaine snorts, because Kurt is ridiculous and has no right to be so attractive doing that half-twerking thing he’s doing. Then Blaine shakes his head, and waves his hands and groans, “No, stop distracting me, this isn’t funny! I am in a  _rage!_ They ruined everything! We’ve all been so busy, and tonight was supposed to be for all three of us to catch up and have fun together. But then Sam started being weird and talking about Tina’s boobs, and she started talking about his lips, and I went to pop some popcorn and came back to — _to this!_ I was gone for five minutes!”

Kurt goes quiet at some point during Blaine’s tirade, so when Blaine stops, Kurt switches to his side of the hallway and slides right next to him. “Don’t be sad. Stop it.”

Kurt puts a hand on Blaine’s leg, and Blaine thinks maybe he should move away, because no matter how cute Kurt is, he really is quite drunk. But he looks up at Kurt’s face, and Kurt does seem sincerely concerned, even if it’s in that open, no-questions-asked way that only drunk people can be towards strangers. And it is just a comforting hand, and Blaine wants someone to listen.

"Everything’s going to be weird now."

"Nooo. How?"

"We had this balance, sort of. Tina crushes on me, but she knows nothing will ever happen. I—I crush on Sam, but I know nothing will ever happen. And Sam, well, he just wasn’t into Tina. Nobody does anything about anything, so we’re all cool, you know? But now, they’re doing… things."

"I think they’re doing each other," Kurt says, patting Blaine’s knee sympathetically.

Blaine sighs and shakes his head.

"No, really, I think they’re having—"

"Yeah, yeah Kurt, I believe you. I got it."

Kurt hums in satisfaction, then kisses Blaine on the cheek and wraps his arms around one of Blaine’s. “I’ll stay out here with you.”

Blaine’s startled, but then he relaxes into the cuddle. “You don’t want to go to your own room? You don’t have to stay with me.”

"Shhh, is’okay. This’appens to me all the time. My roommate has a lot of sex and the girls always come to our room ‘cause it’s the only hanny — hand-cap — it’s assess’a — wheelchair fits in it."

"Okay… well, we could—"

Kurt curls closer and rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Just stay here ‘til they’re done, and when they’re sleepin’ you can go back in, ‘kay?”

Blaine finally lets his head rest against Kurt’s, and he closes his eyes, smiling into Kurt’s hair.

"Mmm, hey… wha’s your name?"

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"Nice’ta meet you."

"You, too… You’re absolutely sure you—?"

"Shhh. I’m sure. Anything for a fan."


	2. Recovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> letshaveagleeki (tumblr) prompted: "a follow up to 'stranded'? Like it could take place the next day with Kurt being hungover or something and he’s kind of embarrassed by how he acted around Blaine and acts all apologetic and it just gets really cute and adorable.”

Kurt wakes up on the floor in the hallway of his dorm, and he _aches._

He’s dying. He knows it. The ugly popcorn molding on the ceiling spins slowly, making itself into lumpy circles that look like cookie batter in a mixer. The overhead lights are – well, they weren’t this bright yesterday, Kurt is sure of it, and they certainly weren’t trying to burn his eyeballs out of his head the way they are now. He shuts his eyes to stop it, and the dizziness fades a little, but it doesn’t stop the pressure building between his temples.

He turns his head to his left, and when his cheek hits something warm and denim-covered, he opens his eyes again.

Oh. That’s a crotch.

Kurt’s first instinct is to get up and haul ass away from whatever the hell happened here, but as soon as he jerks his head up, the headache pulses in a menacing sort of way that is entirely unnecessary, in Kurt’s opinion. He lays his head back down and takes stock of his body’s position instead.

He’s got all his clothes on. His head’s on someone’s lap as he lies on his back on the floor. His right hand is gripping fabric (the bottom of the guy’s jeans, which he lets go of immediately) and the other is… oh dear god, it’s underneath this guy’s hand, his fingers laced between  Kurt’s where they rest on Kurt’s stomach. He slips his hand free and the guy’s fingers curl around the absence, pressing lightly.

Kurt clenches his eyes shut again— _the ceiling needs to calm the fuck down, seriously_ —and moans, “Don’t push, I don’t wanna throw up on you, please—”

He knows the guy wakes up by the way his thighs tense under Kurt’s head. “Oh—oh. G’morning, Kurt,” he yawns, and his voice is sweet and affectionate – and most importantly, quiet – like they’ve been waking up together for years. Which can’t be possible, seeing as how Kurt can’t remember who he is.

Kurt looks up at his face at the same time he looks down at Kurt, and suddenly, the name, the awkward dancing, the – oh, shit, the _cuddling_ , all of it rushes back to him.

“Blaine.”

Blaine’s smile is almost as bright as those infernal halogen bulbs overhead, and so charming that it makes Kurt want to return it, but all Kurt can manage is a grimace. He pushes himself upright and into a ball, his burning red face pressed into his knees with his back to Blaine. Immediately, it becomes clear that upright was not a good idea, but he focuses on his breathing instead of his queasiness.

“I didn’t think you’d remember who I was,” Blaine says. The relief in his voice is obvious.

“Trust me, I wish I couldn’t,” Kurt mumbles, not thinking. He could definitely do with the ground swallowing him up right now. Just opening right up so he could drop down a floor and go back to his room and become a hermit and get all his news of the outside, functioning, able-to-hold-their-liquor world from Artie. He’d kissed Blaine; only on the cheek, but still, he _kissed_ some guy after clinging all over him like a clammy octopus, and how he’s still sitting here with him, Kurt can’t _fathom_ —

“Oh. I – right. Well.” Kurt hears Blaine get up and go into his room, the door shutting far more softly than expected behind him.

Kurt wants to cry. He’s hungover and embarrassed and trying so hard not to be sick, and he feels so sweaty and disgusting having slept in his clothes, and not only did he make a fool of himself in front of Cute Angry Sexiled Blaine From Upstairs but now he’s accidentally hurt his feelings. And his hair probably looks terrible. Kurt makes an anguished whale call of a noise into his knees, and his head throbs in response.

The door opens again, and then there’s a hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back. “How bad is it?”

He looks over his shoulder. Blaine’s kneeling behind him, and next to him sits a bottle of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, a tube of Chapstick, and a paper towel with two slices of bread on it. He’s looking up at Kurt with big, concerned eyes and a shy, hopeful little quirk to his lips, like he doesn’t know if Kurt wants company but he can’t _not_ help.

“I am so sorry,” Kurt whispers, the shame of the whole fiasco making it so he can hardly get the words out. “I’m a hot mess. And I was a mess last night, too, I can’t believe—I am _so, so sorry_ —“

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have anything to apologize for. You saved my night.”

“What? No, I was completely ridiculous, I was hanging all over you—”

Blaine laughs. “You weren’t that bad, Kurt, I promise. You were cute.”

Kurt’s mouth drops open, and he blushes, turning in place so that he’s facing Blaine. He’s still groggy and feels gross, so he can’t process that Blaine might think he’s cute after all this, he just can’t.

“So,” Blaine goes on, “here’s some Advil, because, well, I’m not sure how many drinks that was for you, but I figured your head might hurt a little. And since you’re probably feeling pretty dehydrated right now, here’s a Gatorade, and I stole one of my roommate’s Chapsticks for you. It hasn’t been used or anything. He has too many anyway.”

Kurt’s eyes water a bit as he washes down a slice of bread and two Advil with some of the Gatorade. Blaine had been so gentle about rubbing Kurt’s back, had returned to Kurt with remedies for his hangover, and, this entire time, he has kept his voice quiet, all without Kurt asking… Blaine is an actual, real-life _angel_. Kurt might have to pick a god to believe in after this.

“Blaine?”

“Yeah, Kurt?”

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this for me.”

Blaine’s long eyelashes flutter as he suddenly moves forward and kisses Kurt’s cheek. Then he says, quieter than anything he’s said thus far, “Yes, I do.”

With that, Kurt finally smiles, because he’s finally feeling a little better. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. Not the way I said it, at least. I’m really glad I remember you.”

“So am I, Kurt.”

Kurt attempts a more casual expression as he laces his fingers with Blaine’s again. “So, you explained everything else, but what’s with the bread?” he asks, taking a bite of the remaining slice.

“I thought you could use some food to help settle your stomach.” Blaine runs his thumb over the inside of Kurt’s wrist.

Kurt sighs into a little laugh and says, “You’re right, I could. But this hardly constitutes ‘food,’ Blaine.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t… “ Blaine nods, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “So, I should take you out for breakfast now, shouldn’t I?”

“As soon as the hideous design in this carpet stops spinning… yes, you should.”


End file.
